Like It Means Something
by Skalidra
Summary: After a large fight involving most of the Crime Syndicate, Barry is looking for a bit of fun as a reward for his victory. Naturally, he goes to Hal for that bit of fun. However, Hal is in no mood for sex, and isn't receptive to Barry's attempts to change his mind. Broken ribs are one hell of a mood killer. - Earth-3 connected universe, Hal Jordan/Barry Allen.
1. Chapter 1

**This is part of a larger continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.**

Hello! Welcome to an in between part of the Hal/Barry relationship! So, if you've been following this, you've seen pretty much the two extreme ends to their relationship. Here's one of the bits that's an actual change in the dynamic between them (I promise, eventually, this journey will make sense! XD). Enjoy!

 **Warnings** for this chapter include: Dubious consent, injury, implied/referenced cheating, possessive behavior, and dirty talk.

* * *

There's a bounce in my step, as obviously satisfied as the grin widening my mouth. There's _nothing_ quite like beating up your nemesis to make a day great, even if he's always a _coward_ and runs off before I can end things. Haven't managed to catch him yet, but it'll happen eventually, and then I'll get to bury my hand in his chest and tear his heart out myself. Oh, that'll be a _great_ day.

The rest of the Syndicate's not so pleased — especially Lantern, who looks even angrier than usual — but I could give about half a shit how their day went. Just because they can't handle their enemies like _I_ can, doesn't mean I should bring myself down to their level. I kicked _ass_ in this fight, and I more than held up my part of our team, and I so deserve this satisfaction.

In fact — I glance sideways at Lantern's sneer — I think I deserve a _reward_.

Last time was fun; I wonder if I could get him to let me fuck him again? Or maybe, if I just press an advantage far enough and get my fingers in him, he'll be too caught up to stop me. I don't mind sucking him off afterwards, not really. I mean, come on; one threat of teeth and he'd be running the other direction. It's not nearly as powerless an act as people make it seem, especially not with what I can do. Lantern's not _stupid_ enough to think that I'd bluff about using teeth, or stupid enough to think he can get away with anything while I'm down there.

I wonder how many times I could get him to let me fuck him in a single night? Could I fuck him to start with, get him in my mouth or hand to keep him high, and then use a second round to actually finish him off? I'd _love_ to see what _Hal_ looks like coming on my cock, in whatever position. I'd love to hear what he _sounds_ like.

Lantern looks over at me, like he can feel my gaze, and I sharpen my grin a little, _just_ for him. His sneer sets a little more firmly into his face, and he pointedly turns away from me, shoulders drawing in a bit in what's obviously anger. What's up with him? Lantern's usually pretty angry, or at least aggressive and violent, but usually there's some kind of reason behind it. I wasn't paying _that_ much attention to anyone not directly in my way — Reverse is fast, and he's hard to even catch up to if I'm not giving it enough of my focus — but I don't remember seeing or hearing anything specific happen to him. It's not like Star Sapphire was there to piss him off.

Hal's got pretty terrible taste in women; she's a damned _hero_ to start with.

Lantern's jaw clenches as we get into the main common room of the Watchtower, Owlman and Sea King a step ahead of us — everyone else flew back — and then his head drags up to fix on the Owl's back. "Are we _done_ here?" he demands, sounding a few steps beyond pissed off.

Owlman pulls to a stop, which brings me up short too, though Sea King doesn't seem to care. Rich, royal, bastard. The Owl turns back to Lantern, totally unreadable as always, and then gives a single nod. "We're done," he confirms, and Lantern doesn't wait a second longer to turn and leave, heading in the direction of the private rooms. The Owl glances at me, then turns to follow Sea King further into the main base.

Well that's _handy_.

I head after Lantern, keeping a decent ways behind him for now but tracking him wherever he's heading. Which ends up being his room, and when he opens the door and steps inside I slip easily into speed and dart forward, skidding past the door and getting in beside him before it closes. He jerks, spinning towards where I've stopped — near the center of the small room — and glaring, lips still curled in that sneer.

"Get _out_ ," he snarls at me. I reach for the speed force, using just a touch of it to get in front of Lantern without him being able to react.

I curl my hands around his upper arms and let go of the speed, grinning at him and feeling the instinctive tense and pull as he tries to get distance back between us. "Don't you mean 'get _off_ '?" I mock, tightening my grip and not letting him pull back, keeping barely a foot between us. I hear the high pitched noise of his ring activating, and automatically duck under the green fist aimed at my face. It turns, slips into a wall that forces me back a few steps when it shoves forward, and I laugh.

The counter is obvious, and instead of darting around it like I might if we were _really_ fighting I just hit it a dozen different times from different angles, different heights, different places. It shatters, he steps back, and I leap forward through the shards of green energy and get a grip on his upper arms, using my speed to slam him back against the closed door. Faster than he can react I reach down, grabbing his left wrist and then forcing his fist open to interlace my fingers with his right hand, pinning both of the limbs up beside his head.

It's not going to stop him making constructs, but I'll get more warning, and he'll have to try harder.

"Not in the mood to play nice, Lantern?" I ask, shoving my left leg in between his thighs and pushing forward against his hips.

"Not in the mood at _all_ ," he snaps, yanking at my grip and clenching down painfully tight on the fingers I have interlaced with his. "Get the fuck _out of my room_ , Quick." Like his refusal means anything to me.

I lean further in, not going near his mouth because I'm pretty sure he'll bite me if I try. I heal, but I'm still not a fan of getting bitten. That's gotta be half of why Lantern does it at all. "I'm sure I can _convince_ you," I say,with another push of my crotch in against his hip, and I can see the shift of muscle past the edge of his mask that's his eyes narrowing, see the clench of teeth that comes with it. His ring activates again, and I take half a glance at the sharp, jagged lines of what look like knives before reaching out to the speed force.

I let go of his left wrist, and bring my arm down and around to smack my elbow into his ribs. Not enough to really give him anything but a bruise to remember it, but it'll be enough to break his concentration, and the construct, before it reaches me.

He jerks _way_ harder than he should at such a simple blow, head tilting back as he gasps and then gives a _shout_ of pain. Then there's bands of green around me and I'm flying through the air, _slamming_ into the opposite wall with enough force to crack the concrete. I fall to the floor, the breath knocked out of me and my shoulder blades aching from the impact. It's nothing but instinct that makes me look up, and focus on Lantern.

He's half collapsed against the door, weight leaning on it and his right arm wrapped around his waist to clutch at his left side, breath coming sharp and fast. "Son of a _bitch_ ," he hisses, and then his head snaps towards me as I get to my feet.

What just happened? I didn't hit him _that_ hard. Is he—

I snap forward, crossing the room in barely a second — to him — but staying back a few feet; more distance than I gave him before. "You're hurt," I accuse, question, _demand_.

" _Fuck_ off, Quick," he snarls, but doesn't straighten up. "I'm not in the mood to fuck so just _go away_."

He had whatever it is under control before me, right? I didn't see anything that told me he was in pain, not until I hit him in whatever the hell is under his suit. Whatever— I move, grabbing both his wrists and slamming them back against the door next to his hips, fingers tight around the green and black suit that covers him from his neck makes it _impossible_ for me to know how badly he's damaged. I need to _know_ what I just did.

"Show me," I demand, matching his snarl with one of my own.

"Go to hell," he snaps back.

I don't know why, I don't know what _possesses_ me, but I shove forward and seal my mouth over his. I bite at his lips, taste the copper and the blood on my tongue as he makes a violent, _angry_ noise and bites back. His teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I retaliate by releasing his left wrist again and raising it to rake across the side and back of his neck, far enough into his hair that I can grip and _pull_.

" _Show_ me," I repeat, past his teeth on my lip and into his mouth. I can feel him twitch, can feel his teeth loosen enough for me to pull away, and finally, he gives a small, frustrated noise that I recognize as defeat.

His ring whirs, and I lean back enough to drag my gaze down him and watch him pull the suit away. Not all of it, but a section over his left side fades away into the air, and I pull in a sharp breath. It's mottled black and blue, and his abdomen clenches and shudders as I watch, the muscles contracting in what's gotta be an amazingly painful way.

"You _fucking_ happy now?" His tone is bitter, angry, and yeah, definitely a little pained. "I'm not in the _goddamn_ mood, Quick. Leave me the hell alone."

My hands flex in his hair, against his wrist, and I can't tear my gaze away from his side. Okay, wait, I _think_ I remember running by as Lantern was on the ground from getting thrown, and I thought he was just down from the landing and would be getting up, but he _was_ bent over a large piece of rubble. That matches up with what I can see on him now.

 _Jesus_ , that looks painful. I feel pain, sure, but I heal so much faster than normal humans like… like Hal. Take that ring off and Lantern's just a normal guy; no powers, or special skills, or anything. I've seen him hurt before, I've let him _fuck_ me with bruises and scrapes still on him from his last fight, but I've never seen him with anything this nasty. That looks like broken ribs, for god's sake.

"Why the hell haven't you gone to the medical wing, Lantern?" He scowls, suit snapping back into place to cover his skin.

"It's not that bad, and it's not any of your _business_."

"Not that _bad?_ " I repeat, incredulously. "You're an aggressive _jackass_ , Lantern, but I didn't think you were an _idiot_. You can walk or I can _drag_ you, but you're getting that treated within about ten minutes. Are we _clear?_ "

I can see the fury in his shoulders, feel it in the twist of his wrist underneath my hand. "Why would it matter to _you_ , Quick?"

I have to search for an answer that I understand, that actually makes any _sense_. I want him treated and healed because it freaks me out to see him beaten — Lantern, _Hal_ , is strong, and skilled, and _hard_ to hurt — but there's no way in hell I'm saying that out loud. So instead I give him my best grin, letting go of his wrist to stroke up his arm as I tighten my grip in his hair.

"You're no good to me like this, _Lantern_. How am I supposed to enjoy sex with you when you can't even handle a little _play?_ " He pulls in a sharp, shallow breath, and I push closer and let my thigh push up against his crotch and _grind_. "The sooner you're fixed the sooner I get to stop pretending to be nice, _Hal_." His teeth grit, he swallows, and then I can feel and hear him shove out the exhale. "And the sooner I get to pin you down, work you open with my fingers, and _fuck_ you."

He shudders, and then asks, "What makes you think I'll let you do that?"

I let the laugh escape me; low and dark and _promising_. "Because you _want_ it, Lantern." His jaw clenches tighter, _somehow_ , and I let my grin widen and show him just a little of how much I want this. "No matter how much you snap at me I _saw_ how much you liked it, and no matter how much you deny it you're going to let me do it again. _Better_ this time because now I _know_ how you work." I press tight against him, rub my fingers against the back of his skull, and dare him to, "Tell me you're _not_ , Hal."

"You don't _get_ that without a fight." It's a snarl, and a challenge, and I _laugh_.

"If I didn't want a _fight_ I'd be bending you over right here, Lantern. We both know you couldn't stop me from _taking_ whatever I wanted, not right now." I avoid his injured side, _feeling_ him twitch and breathe against me, feeling him tense underneath the layer of his uniform. "But I'd much rather find out how loud I can make you shout; maybe even _scream_. That sounds like _fun_ to me."

His mouth parts, drawing in a breath that shakes a little bit. "Been thinking about that?" he asks, and I think he means it to come out a snarl but it's weaker than that.

Oh, I'm _happy_ to share my thoughts with him. I think it's _fantastic_ how much I can take him down a few notches just by talking about what I want to do to him, and what I know he's going to _let_ me do. There's _nothing_ for me to lose here, and I get to back him down and make him _want_ it. Maybe I can even get him to beg. He'd never lower himself enough to really do it, but a single 'please' would be more than enough for me.

I stroke my hand down his uninjured side, reaching between us and palming at him, and the forced exhale and slight arch are more than enough to satisfy me. I lean closer, pressing my lips up against the side of his neck and then raising my head a bit to speak right into his ear, dropping my voice to a lower octave.

"I've been thinking about how many times I could fuck you in a single night," I tell him, and I can feel him jerk a little bit and bite back some kind of noise by swallowing. "Take my time working you open, getting you worked up until all you'd want is me in you. The first time wouldn't be enough for you, but I could pin you down and keep you right on the edge. You'd _never_ beg, but the challenge is half the _fun_. When I'm ready I'll come back for that second round; pin your arms against your back and _fuck_ you until you come from just my cock in you." I squeeze down on him, stroking up and then grazing my teeth across the shell of his ear. He makes a quiet, choked, noise that I don't think he meant to let out, and I give another low laugh. "Tell me I'm _lying_ , Hal."

" _Damn_ you," he manages to breathe out, neck arching back.

I can feel him hot and swelling beneath my hand, and then both of his hands are dragging up my back. One wraps around the back of my neck and wrenches me away from his ear, and his mouth is hard against mine. Blood smears between us, and his fingers push and claw at the back of my hood like he wants it to be my hair instead, but isn't willing to pull away enough to make that happen. I push harder against him, and then he's breaking the kiss and making a sharp noise of pain, recoiling against the door.

His head tilts back, teeth gritting together as his breath stutters. " _Fuck_." He sounds frustrated more than anything, but there's definitely some resignation in there too. "Fine," he spits at me, glaring. "I'll walk." I let go of him and he stiffens, hissing out an exhale that I'm pretty sure is the words, "You _bastard_."

I smirk, sliding my hand around his neck to grip the front of it just for a second, pinning him back against the door as — I just can't _resist_ — I murmur, " _Good_ boy."

His reaction is instant and violent, but I slip underneath the razor-sharp green blade that swipes at my throat and dance backwards with a laugh. Lantern looks _furious_ , but he's not coming after me. Aggressive, yeah, and an ass most of the time, but he's not _dumb_. He knows he doesn't want to really fight me right now, not when he's got injuries I can exploit. Oh, I'd _love_ to get him on his knees and at my mercy, but only if he's going to be stupid enough to give me the chance. There's no point in proving I can; we both know he can't beat me right now. But if he _tries?_ Oh, I'll have him on his knees in _seconds_.

"Don't you _fucking_ dare," he threatens, his teeth baring. "Say that again and I'll make it _hurt,_ Quick."

I jump forward, slamming my hand into the door next to his head and leaning in to get in his face, press tight against him. "You'll _try_ ," I correct. "You ready to go, Lantern?" He's glaring, but he jerks his head in a nod and shoves me backwards with his ring-hand to my chest. I let him.

"Keep your hands to yourself," he demands, and I grin.

"Like I don't know the rules. Open the door so we can go, _Hal_."

"Fuck off, _Barry_ ," he counters, but does turn to press the panel to open the door at his back. There's something about hearing my name from him, even when he spits it like an insult, that I just _love_. Saying his name is like throwing a rope around his neck and watching it tighten, _knowing_ I've got the power to end him any time I want, but seeing my name on his lips just feels like I _own_ him.

More than that bitch, Star Sapphire, or whoever else he's fucked or been fucked by in the past. Lantern is _mine_. He won't admit it, but that doesn't matter to me. I don't need his _permission_ to know he belongs to me.

I slip out of the room behind him, and he keeps a wary eye on me but just grits his teeth and keeps quiet. I do him the favor of keeping my mouth shut, though I do give him a sharp grin and a mocking extension of my hand to silently say, 'lead the way.' He doesn't want me at his back, and I know that, but I don't care enough to make him comfortable. It's not like I'd _actually_ take advantage; the challenge and the fight really is half the fun, and he can't give me enough of either right now. He doesn't have the bite to back up his bark.

It's actually disappointing. I was looking forward to a good fight and some great sex, and with him hurt I'm not going to get either. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks; maybe I can still get something half-decent out of him. Or find someone else.

I don't want to have to play nice like I would with Iris.

My thoughts sour, and my grin fades as I keep my gaze carefully on Hal's back, keeping pace just a touch behind him.

Iris… I love her, I _do_ , but she's not everything I need. She can't be. I need someone to vent my adrenaline at, someone who can take a few bruises and stand up to me, meet me, _fight_ me. She's got no problem arguing with me, or disagreeing, but she can't push hard enough for it to matter. With her I have to keep myself in check; keep my powers controlled and my touch gentle enough not to hurt her.

But not with Hal. He can take it, he can handle it, and he can come back with just as much violence and anger-fueled passion as I take out on him. He can come back with _more_.

Except right now.

He tried, but with those ribs he's half crippled. I don't think he's going to be much good until he's healed, unless those bruises are a lot more surface than they look. I'm pretty sure they're not.

Well that's irritating. I'm going to have to find some other way to vent, unless Lantern's going to find some way to keep me satisfied, or give me a challenge, while he's hurt. Could happen, but I don't think it's likely. He's not going to do anything he doesn't want to, and usually anything with a lot of pain is something he doesn't want to do. Outside of a fight, anyway, and even then he'll usually back out of a spar if it gets too painful for his taste.

Who else is going to be interested? More importantly, who else is going to be casual about it? It's not like Lantern and I are doing anything more than fucking, and I don't want anything more than that. Strings are messy, and I've already got one person I'm responsible for keeping happy. I don't need another. I _really_ don't need that 'another' to be Lantern, the aggressive asshole who only maybe loses the prize title of 'biggest asshole on the team' to Ultraman.

I force a grin to my face, and quicken my step a little to come up beside Lantern. He scowls at me, moves a little to the side to keep distance between us, but I follow and don't let him. He gives a brief snarl, and my grin turns natural as I push him a little farther, trapping him between me and the wall with only about half a foot between us.

He _is_ fun to mess with. It doesn't take much to make him snap to violence to get me to back off, but it's never serious enough to actually hurt me if I'm paying even a _little_ attention. It's not like he actually wants me dead, most of the time. In pain, on the other hand? Oh I'm pretty sure he spends a lot of his time wanting to hurt me one way or another. I think usually he just takes that out on me with teeth and too-tight grips, by _not_ holding back, and I'm alright with that.

He never pushes far enough to really _hurt_ , and I heal fast, so whatever.

Lantern's obviously uncomfortable, and I enjoy every _second_ of making him that way. His jaw is tight, hands clenched and shoulders drawn defensively upwards, and he's pointedly _not_ looking at me. It kind of makes me want to _make_ him look at me — slam him up against the wall, or trip him, or any other nasty thing I could do without warning — but I squash the urge down. What's the point of making him look if he can't follow through with anything? It's not like he's going to respond well to any kind of advance; not out here, and not while he's injured. Total waste of my time.

I shouldn't even be escorting Lantern to the medics. Apart from sex — and he's not going to be any good for that anyway — I've got no stake in how well he heals, or how fast. This is a lot of time that I could be using for something else, with not much more than getting to see Lantern uncomfortable and unable to fight back as a reward. Fun, but probably not worth the time.

Why am I even still here? Why am I _walking?_ I could have picked Lantern up and gotten him to the medics a while ago, and he probably wouldn't even have had the reaction speed to do more than maybe clip me. Why the hell haven't I done that?

He'll be pissed, I guess, and I don't know what kind of break his injury is; if it's a break. If I pick him up and jostle him while getting him there, am I going to do more damage and lay him out for a longer time? He's moving just fine, but it looked pretty bad. Why should I care? Why should I waste my effort and my powers carrying Lantern somewhere when I can just enjoy this time instead? All this great time I can press, push, mock, and _fuck_ with him and he can't do a damn thing about it without giving me a reason to take him down.

Yeah, I suppose that's worth the time.

The door to the medical wing slides open when Lantern presses his ring to the panel beside it, and I follow him inside. It's empty, _including_ the AI system robots that Grid runs as medics, except for the gun-metal grey and black armored figure of Owlman. He's in front of one of the control consoles, and doesn't bother looking up when we come in. The door shuts as Hal looks around, then snarls and shoots me a look that's pretty much just straight out fury.

"Where the hell are the 'bots?" he asks, aiming it at the side of Owlman that we can see.

"Maintenance," the Owl answers smoothly, and then actually _does_ pause to look up, and I might be crazy but I think the tilt of his mouth is displeased. "If you'd come by when we _arrived_ , they would still be here. I'll deal with your injuries, Lantern."

Hal snorts, then makes a noise that's somewhere between amused and disbelieving, and is definitely choked off before it finished. "Yeah, I don't think so. I'll come back—"

" _Sit_ ," Owlman demands, voice rising a bit to cut through the air, and _jesus_ that tone is one hell of a motivator. _I_ nearly want to just fold up and sit down right where I am, and I can see Lantern cut off, hesitate, swallow, and then move to obey.

He goes farther than he has to, but Owlman's pointed stare and the slight flick of one gauntleted hand to the examination table right next to him might have something to do with it. I follow a few paces back, always, _constantly_ , wary of the Owl, but not enough to keep me from pressing my advantage over Lantern.

Also, I'm not sure I want to leave Hal alone with Owlman. I just… don't.

Owlman turns around, meeting us as Lantern sits down on the edge of the table, near the foot of it. "It's the damage to your side, right?" He doesn't wait for an answer, which only reinforces to me that the Owls are scary as all fuck and know _everything_. "Remove everything above your waist." Lantern scowls, but does as he's told.

Kind of a first to get to watch that happen. I don't think I've seen anyone order Lantern around like the Owl is doing right now, and live to tell about it. I've never asked — other people don't come up in our fucks that much; mostly just Iris and Star Sapphire — but obviously Lantern is just as freaked out by and wary of Owlman as the rest of us. Which is totally justified.

I mean, the guy's a human. A _normal_ human. No powers, no advanced tech, no handy tools or magical weapons; he's literally just a guy in a costume who happens to be a genius, and could probably take all of the rest of us down before we knew what was happening. Scary thought; _scary_ man.

The ring glows, makes that distinctive noise, and Hal's suit disintegrates from the waist up with the exception of his mask. I stop myself from taking in another sharp breath at the sight of his side, but my jaw tightens a little bit. I don't like other people hurting what belongs to me, I don't like them even _touching_ it. I need to know who did this to him. I need to _hurt_ them for it.

Owlman steps a little closer, pushing Hal's arm away from his side — he glares, but doesn't fight it — and then lowers his hand to trace his fingers across the bruised area. I cross my arms, leaning back against the edge of the closest table to them — only about six feet away — and containing the irrational and totally suicidal desire to smack the Owl's hand away from Lantern. I don't like the way his claws follow the patterns of bruising, indenting Lantern's skin but not quite breaking it, and I don't _like_ the way he's looking at what's mine, _studying_ him.

Hal sucks in a sharp, gasping breath when the Owl prods at one of the darkest bruises, wrenching away and snarling. Lantern probably doesn't see it, but I've got the speed and I can see the tiny flicker of a smirk on the Owl's face before his hand is snapping upwards and wrapping around Hal's throat, jerking his head up.

I snatch at the speed force and lunge forward, coming to the other side of the table and slipping back out of it to shout, "Hey!" in the Owl's face. How _dare_ he?

Owlman ignores me, fingers tightening on Lantern's throat. "My gauntlets aren't designed to mend, Lantern. You will _stay_ still, or I'll cease being careful. Is that understood?"

Lantern sneers, but shifts his head in a nod that pushes against the metal pressed around his neck. Instead of letting go, like I expect him to — like I _want_ him to — the Owl's hand loosens and slips upward, gripping Hal's jaw and sweeping the thumb up to press the end of that claw to Lantern's bottom lip, to the wounds from my teeth. He lingers longer than is even _remotely_ alright — my sense of time can get warped, but I'm not wrong about _this_ — before letting go, and there's something about the way Hal swallows, and doesn't _fight_ a touch that close and _possessive_ , that makes me furious.

Lantern's _never_ this passive; hurt or not he shouldn't be letting the Owl touch him like that.

I bite back the comments on my tongue, but don't step back from my side of the table. If Owlman tries doing that again, I'm stopping him. I don't care what he might try and do to me; I don't like seeing him touch Hal like that, and I won't sit by and watch it happen. I'll risk a fight first, if that's what it takes.

The Owl turns away, still completely ignoring my presence, and throws out the command, "Lie down," over his shoulder.

I can see the anger on his face, see the want to refuse or question, but Lantern's tongue slips out to swipe over his bottom lip, and instead he swallows again and shifts to lie back. What the hell is between them that Lantern doesn't want to even question one of the Owl's orders? Why is Hal letting him do this? Not fighting I get, but not questioning? Not even _complaining?_ I don't remember any kind of serious fight between the two of them; nothing that would have made Hal unwilling to even argue, anyway.

That would have been some serious news.

Does Owlman know something about Lantern that I don't? Did he threaten him somehow? I'm almost jealous that he can make Hal shut up and do what he's told, but not as much jealous as I am pissed off at it. Hal shouldn't bow to anybody; not me and _definitely_ not the Owl.

Lantern shifts further onto the table and then leans back, supporting himself on his arms and wincing as he goes down. Can't be comfortable bending with those kind of injuries, not that I'd really know. Usually when I get hurt bad enough for it to linger I'm also exhausted, and I just crash somewhere safe. There's never been a time that everything wasn't healed by the time I woke up. I remember injuries from before I got my powers, but only kind of vaguely. The most I ever did was crack a bone in my forearm anyway, nothing as serious as Hal's side looks.

Owlman taps a command into the computer, finishing it off by pressing a larger, yellow button, and the examination table hums to life. There's nothing visible, but it sounds like some kind of electronics. I'm not real familiar with the medical wing, honestly. I'm pretty much never in here, and when I am it's for something large and obvious that's stuck in me, and those are pretty much just 'wrench it out and patch over the hole' kind of things. Any kind of stitches is never anything but a pain in the ass; I heal around them after a couple hours.

So I can guess at what this stuff does, but it's not like I actually care about what kind of treatment my so-called allies get. I never bothered learning. Right now it feels like a disadvantage, and I'm not too happy with it. Maybe I could put some time into learning what's in here. Next time I could patch Hal up myself, and not let the Owl anywhere near him.

"You have three cracked ribs, Lantern," Owlman announces, pressing something else to end the humming. "Nothing's broken, and nothing will be as long as you keep your physical activity within reasonable limits."

Normally, I'd make some kind of jackass comment, asking if Owlman had ever actually _seen_ Hal's definition of 'reasonable,' but I _really_ don't feel like mocking him in front of the Owl. Not today.

"Great," Lantern spits, as he sits up. Faster than the time it took for him to lean back, but with the same wince. "So just wrap it and I'll go."

Owlman glances over his shoulder. "You'll need to remove your ring."

I tense about as quickly as Hal does, and my Lantern's mouth immediately curls in a sneer. "Yeah?" he demands, sounding at least a little more aggressive now. That's better. "Why the hell should I do that?"

Owlman turns fully towards the two of us, and flicks a dismissive hand in Hal's direction. "It's the mechanics of your power; _you_ should know them. Anything I apply now won't stay when you return to your civilian form, and vice versa. Unless you want to find yourself suddenly lacking support, and in danger of breaking those ribs, a wrap will need to be put on in both forms. Or don't you know how your own power works, Lantern?" His voice is condescending, a smirk curls his mouth, and I _really_ want to punch the know-it-all bastard.

Hal's teeth grit, and he looks really unhappy with the idea, but he jerks his head in a nod. " _Fine_. Are there masks in here?"

"There are," Owlman confirms, carelessly, "if you feel the need for one." Hal stiffens, and the Owl slowly raises his head to look at _me_ for the first time. "I don't think that matters, does it, Quick?"

It shouldn't bother me that Owlman knows who Hal is — or maybe he's just implying he does and actually doesn't? — but it really, _really_ , does. Of course I know, even if it was a total accident that I found out, and really, of _course_ Owlman knows. Manipulative, know-it-all, son of a _bitch_. He probably knows who I am too. He probably knows the name of every villain or hero out there, even if he hasn't said a damn thing to anyone.

Is that why Lantern doesn't fight him? Is Owlman threatening him with some kind of reveal of his identity? Because that's _bullshit_. Without Hal, the Owl would have to deal with the rest of the Green Lantern Corp, and that whole organization is an invasion waiting to happen. Technically, Hal's supposed to be dominating the planet or something, but mostly he's said that they have so many agents spread out across the universe that they could care less about what one does unless it becomes an actual problem. Their Lantern dying, or getting permanently imprisoned, would be a problem.

I bare my teeth, meeting the Owl head on. "That's not my call," I spit at him. "Why don't you ask _Lantern?_ "

What the hell is this passive aggressive, sideways approach of asking _me?_ I don't get to tell Hal what he can or can't wear, and I've seen him without his mask before but not often. I've _never_ asked him to take it off, or demanded, or even _touched_ the thing more than incidentally. That'd be like touching his ring, which I am _not_ going to do without express invitation or serious need. That crosses a line; it's _wrong_. You don't fuck with someone's mask, or the source of their power. Not _ever_.

Lantern jerks my mask off all the time, but that's different. It's part of my suit, it comes off if my costume does, no other way to do that. I've used temporary masks before, with some people, but I never bothered with Hal. He was a little stunned the first time I dropped out of my suit and let him see my face, I remember that, but he got over it pretty quick when I took his distraction as a way to pin him up against the furthest wall. After that, he started pulling my hood back himself, and I never stopped him.

"Not your call?" Owlman says quietly, with just enough condescension that it pisses me off. "But you _already_ make so many decisions for him. That's why he's _here_ , isn't it?" That smirk is on his lips again, and I shift into speed for a moment before shutting it down. I probably blur out for a second to both of them.

"Does he look like a _kid_ to you?" I demand, trying to find _anything_ in his posture that says he's feeling anything but amusement and calm. I _can't_. "Lantern's _right here_ ; how about you talk _to_ him instead of _about_ him?"

Owlman's teeth flash for just a second, and then he gives a small noise of amusement. "My, you _are_ protective aren't you?"

" _Enough_ ," Hal snarls, shoving me back with a hand to my shoulder and turning on Owlman. "I'm not some kind of chew toy, and both of you need to back the fuck off. Wrap my _fucking_ ribs, Owlman; I'll take the damn ring off."

I hold Owlman's gaze for a few more seconds — glaring and mentally _daring_ him to start something, even though I know I'd probably lose that fight — before he purposefully turns his head away and looks back down at Lantern. The smirk is smaller, but it's still lingering and I don't like it at all. I hate how entitled and arrogant the Owl is, and how much of a bastard he can be when it suits him. I really _despise_ that he's good enough to back up that attitude.

"Very well," he agrees, smoothly, and pauses just long enough to look back at me before turning away and striding across the room. He heads towards what I have to assume is the metal cabinets that store the supplies, and I tear my gaze away from him to look down at Hal.

Hal, who is _just_ pulling the Green Lantern ring from his finger.

The suit fades off of him in a wave of green energy, disintegrating from his head down as his civilian clothes return. I'm not entirely sure why I do it, but I watch the change go all the way down to his toes — heavy boots, military — before raising my gaze back to his face. Seeing him without his mask is… different. He's watching me, the slightest sneer to his lips and an obvious glint of challenge in his brown eyes, and I meet his look without returning it.

It's _different_ challenging him when he doesn't have that mask on. To me, my mask is just a thing; a part of my suit that goes on and off whenever I choose, but I don't have to ask to know it's not the same for Hal. It's not just the mask, it's the _ring_. Taking off that ring makes him vulnerable, weaker, and just a regular human. Not that he's not still a threat, because he _is_. A _second_ and he could call that ring back to his finger and gut anyone who tried to take advantage of him.

So, maybe…

I let a grin twist my lips, and slip back into the _way_ easier feeling of just messing with Lantern like normal. What the hell is different, really? He's still Lantern, he's still Hal, and just because he hasn't got that stupid piece of jewelry on doesn't mean he's suddenly less than he was. It's a big advantage for me, yeah, sure, but it doesn't make him _weak_. Not even his cracked ribs make him weak.

I shift closer — he sneers a little more — and glance up to make sure Owlman is still across the room before leaning down to speak in Hal's ear. "You know, I don't usually get to see you strip off actual clothes," I say, barely above a breath, and then flick myself back fast enough that I get to catch his reaction.

He starts, surprise bright in his eyes for a second, and then I can _see_ him follow my lead and slide right back into his normal role between us. "Don't get used to it," he counters just as quietly, but with a sharp edge of threat. "I don't do _shows_."

"What about a private one?" I coax, _mock_. "We could make some more deals, Lantern. You seemed to like our last one." He reflexively swallows, shudders, and my breath catches because I get to _see_ his eyes flicker closed for a second. That's— Is that what's been happening behind his mask every time I bring this up? Oh, forget the stripping. I'd give him anything he damn well wants just to get to watch his eyes while we fuck.

I probably shouldn't let him know that.

He looks back up at me, and there's a background of desire there that's just _intoxicating_. I want more of it, I want _all_ of it. I want to pin him down and watch him come from my mouth, cock, and fingers, and see all of it in his damn _eyes_. There's no way he thinks the same thing of me, right? I would have known, he would have mentioned something even if it was some sarcastic, backhanded comment.

"If you give me something good enough," he says, low and dark, and I let my grin slide a little wider. "It'll have to be _damn_ good though, Quick. My ring…"

"I get it," I tell him, with a tiny shrug. "Look, I might not have a fancy ring for myself, but I get enough of how important it is. I wouldn't touch it unless I wanted to start a fight of the not-as-fun kind, Lantern. Haven't you realized that I _like_ the challenge?"

I don't totally recognize what's in his eyes — reading people isn't my biggest talent; most people you can't really get a good fix on while in superspeed — but it flattens out to something I understand way better within a second. Anger, wariness, and that slash of desire through it all. That's a look I'm used to, even if I normally don't get to actually see it. _God_ , I could stare at his eyes for a long time and just watch how they change. How _alive_ they are.

"We can negotiate," Hal offers, almost grudgingly but I can recognize the fake tint to it. He's not as opposed as he wants me to think he is.

I glance up again, as Owlman turns around with supplies in his hands, and straighten up. "Later." Hal starts to shrug the dark brown coat he's got on over his white shirt off, pauses, winces, and I amend, "Much later. What a pain in the ass, Lantern." He scowls at me, letting the coat drop back off his arms and then raising both hands to grab the collar of the shirt at the back of his neck, dragging it over his head.

The bruises almost look worse now that his suit's gone.

Owlman steps up to his side of the table a moment later, setting the supplies down — I don't recognize them; I really _do_ need to read up on at least some of this — and only then looking up. The smirk is gone, and he only looks at me briefly before turning to Hal, who's shoving his jacket and shirt back behind him on the table.

"Sit up straight and raise your arms," Owlman orders, picking through the supplies.

I'm not right up against the table, but I watch closely as Hal obeys and lifts both arms to cross behind his neck, resting easily. Straightening up looks like it's painful, but he does it anyway. Owlman sets to work, and I keep my eyes on his hands and _exactly_ what they're doing. If he steps out of line, if he _dares_ touching anywhere he shouldn't, any _way_ he shouldn't, I'm damn well going to call him on it. Hal can defend himself, but there's something between them that makes me think he isn't going to, and if he won't I'll do it for him.

It's not like I care that Hal's apparently too freaked out by the Owl to stop him taking advantage, but I don't want to watch it happen. As long as I'm around, Owlman can keep his hands to himself. I don't give a damn what Hal thinks of it, or what the Owl thinks of me. I don't like it, so I'm not going to let it happen. It's that simple.

Whatever the reason, Owlman does keep his touch professional. It's obviously painful for Hal, but as far as I can tell that's just the cost of it, and the Owl isn't intentionally making it hurt any more than it has to. He finishes, briefly running fingers back along the wrap, but his head is tilted down so I'm pretty sure he's just checking his own work. He withdraws after a moment, and then reaches back to grab Hal's coat and shirt and drop them in Lantern's lap.

"Put those back on, and your ring."

It looks like getting the clothing back on is exceedingly painful — even more than taking it off — but Owlman doesn't move to assist, and I _really_ don't either. Hal's injured, not a cripple, and unless it looks like he legitimately can't do something I'm not going to step in. I probably wouldn't anyway, not unless it was actually really important, or going to get him killed. Or he asked.

It's really clear that the moment when he slips his ring back on makes him feel a whole lot better. He straightens back up under the wave of green energy, and it definitely makes me a little less concerned now that he's got that suit back on. I mean, him letting the top half of it disintegrate after it's formed still makes him a little vulnerable, but not excessively, like before. He raises his arms back up without prompting, and I go back to watching Owlman put on the second wrap.

"So, what's 'reasonable' physical activity?" I ask, kind of sarcastically.

Owlman doesn't look up, but I catch the flicker of another smirk. "Anything that directly aggravates this section of ribs, to put it simply."

"That's vague as hell," Lantern snaps, his voice a little tight with pain.

"Any activities, fighting or otherwise, that include twisting or bending of the torso, or possibility of a direct strike to your ribs that might widen the cracks or make the bone snap completely." The Owl looks up, tugging something tighter that makes Hal wince. "Don't engage in anything but ranged combat for a while, and keep your midair acrobatics to a minimum. I'll make sure someone else picks up the slack you'll leave."

Lantern glares, and snarls out, "I don't need _help_."

"And I don't feel like risking your imprisonment or death on your own arrogant sense of strength," Owlman counters sharply. "It wasn't an offer, Lantern. I don't expect you to cooperate specifically with them but there will be more of our presence in your city, and they _will_ step in if needed, until you're healed. I don't need anyone else finding out you're injured when you're inevitably _incapable_ of handling them."

Lantern is just a step below furious, but his teeth clench together and he stays silent. This is more what I'm used to. Ultraman may be our official 'leader,' but everyone knows when it comes to strategy, day-to-day workings, and even battle tactics, Owlman is the real mind behind it. We all know better than to really argue his strategies; I think we've all had a time that we disobeyed his orders in a fight and got our asses handed to us.

It's not fun, and then you have to deal with the snide little 'I told you so's and the 'you should have listened's, and it's just a pain in the ass.

"How long is this going to take?" Lantern snaps, just shy of demanding, and Owlman lifts one shoulder in a tiny shrug.

"It depends on your physiology," he says, as he finishes the wrap and then does that same grazing of fingers to check it. "A couple of weeks, at least. Come back every other week to get it checked, and get new wraps."

Lantern grimaces, and I snort. "Great. I was looking forward to that fight, Lantern."

Owlman pulls back, and Lantern shoots me a nasty glare as he lowers his arms and reforms the suit over his torso. There's a slight irregularity around his middle if you know what to look for, but it's barely even visible. Unless they're really close, or already know, no one should be able to tell he's got anything under his suit.

"I'm sure I could substitute if you're looking for a," I swear I don't imagine the pause in Owlman's speech before he finishes with, "fight." Huh.

" _No_ ," Hal snarls instantly, both hands clenching into fists as his legs draw up, feet bracing on the table. He's turned mostly towards Owlman, really _aggressive_ for the first time, and his teeth are bared. " _Back_ off." Owlman's lips twist in a smirk, and then Hal turns to me and says, just as fiercely, "You'll get your damn fight, Quick."

Well, alright then.

I let a smirk twist my mouth — way wider than Owlman's mocking one — and narrow my eyes, even if he can't see it. "You think you can deliver?"

"I _know_ I can," Hal counters, at least _sounding_ sure of himself.

Who knows? Maybe Hal's got tricks up his sleeve that I don't know about. I kept my ability to vibrate hidden for a long time, and I haven't pulled it out again since he let me fuck him. So, maybe he's got some kind of secret like that.

"That's lovely," Owlman says dryly. "I have work to do, enjoy whatever challenge he can give you, Quick." It sounds more sarcastic than sincere, but he turns his back on both of us almost immediately to return to the console he was originally working on.

Hal slides off the end of the table, back to his feet, and he might brace on his arms more than usual, but he doesn't give any real hint of pain. So, at least that's something. Maybe he can't really _fight_ me the way he's claiming he can, but at least he's not cringing and limping around; he might still be good for _something_. If he's not, I can always satisfy myself somewhere else. I can find _someone_.

I don't think it's a good idea to take up Owlman's implied offer — I've got no idea what he fucks like, admittedly — but maybe, if I get desperate enough for something. I bet he's a hell of a ride; probably doesn't hold back much, if at all. I'll keep it in the back of my head just in case.

Hal nearly shoulders past me, heading for the exit without another word, and I follow him with a smirk on my lips and curiosity burning bright in the back of my mind.

This could be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome back! So, mostly this chapter is porn, just putting that up front here, but there are some important moments in it. It's also a turning point in the Hal/Barry relationship, to slowly bring them towards something a little more than just allies who happen to fuck. XD Enjoy!

 **Warnings** for this chapter include: Implied/Referenced extremely dubious consent, graphic sex, inappropriate usage of super powers, slight Dom/Sub themes, and restraints.

* * *

The first thing Hal does once we're inside 'our' room is shove me forward with a hand at the back of my shoulder, kicking the door closed with one foot as I whip around and recover. He's got a thin snarl on his face, and I meet it with a grin as I face him. I'm not going to slam him up against the wall, not yet. Let's see what he's got in mind before I take him down too fast.

He steps forward and reaches for me with both hands, shoving my hood and goggles away from my face and then tunneling his hands through my hair. I let him pull me up against him, and it's kind of a nice surprise how much passion there is in his kiss; how _hard_ it is and full of just-leashed violence. He's not backing down just because I could lay him out with a single punch.

 _Good_.

I push up into him, angling myself not to press against his injured side, and raising one hand to curl around the back of his neck. He's all teeth, tongue, and just a hint of blood, and it's familiar and amazing enough to make me interested. To _force_ me to feel all of that desire that always blindsides me with him. I mean, he's a good fuck, but worth how much I _crave_ him? I'm not sure about that.

His left hand slides down the side of my neck, finding the hidden zipper at the hollow of my throat and wrenching it down almost all the way to my stomach. I can hear the distinctive sound of his ring activating, but instead of jerking back to see what he's doing I just stay in the press of his mouth and the feeling of his hand in my hair. So when bare fingertips touch my chest, stroking up with just enough nail to be a threat, it's a good surprise.

I make a mocking sound of approval, dragging him a little harder down and sliding my free hand around his waist to reach down and grip his ass. Half just to feel it in my hand, but also to pull him in so I can grind into his hip. He makes a small noise into my mouth, something restrained but clearly of enjoyment, and meets every bit of my push. His grip is hard, his bare hand warm and exploring with intent along the slice of my skin that's exposed.

His ring activates again — it's _right_ next to my ear, I pretty much can't miss it — but nothing catches my attention until he pulls away a little bit, with a parting bite to my lip, and I flick my eyes open to watch him. They _immediately_ get caught by brown eyes looking back at me, with desire, wariness, anger, _jealousy_ , and something dark that I don't really understand. I really wish I _did_.

"Don't go to him," he demands, but it sounds like a warning, a _plea_.

I blink, surprised. Hal reacted fast to Owlman's implied offer, almost _instantly_ , but I thought it was pride. Some kind of show of Hal needing to prove he could still match me even while he's injured. I mean, I hadn't _really_ considered it except maybe as a last resort, but…

"Why do you care who I fuck, Lantern?" I ask bluntly, and he sneers, _snarls_ , and then jerks his gaze away and down for a second before meeting my look again.

"I _don't_ ," he snaps, defensively, "but not him. _Damn_ you, Barry, don't you go to that jackass. Whatever the hell you want I can do, and you can damn well fuck anyone else you want, but I can't stomach the _fucking_ thought of him touching you."

Anger follows right on the heels of jealousy, and I snarl and tighten my grip on the back of Hal's neck. "Like he did to _you?_ " I hiss, and his eyes flicker wide for a second. "Why the hell did you let him touch you like that, Hal? What the hell is it about the Owl that makes you shut up and snap to heel?" A sneer that matches what he had curves my mouth, and I lower my voice to spit out, "You didn't say a _damn_ thing to stop him, Hal, you _let_ him walk all over you and practically molest you _right_ in front of me! What the _hell_ was that?!"

"What I do isn't any of your _damn_ business," he snarls, one hand tightening in my hair and the other pressing flat against my chest.

"But what _I_ do is _yours?_ Give me one god damn reason I should listen to your hypocritical _bullshit_."

"He'll _hurt_ you!" Hal yells, and then flinches back, eyes widening. He tries to push me away but I dig my gloves in and hold tight, and there's something awful and dark in his eyes but I don't know what it is. I can't _tell_.

"What the hell are you talking about? _Hurt_ me? You hurt me all the time, Lantern, that's not so different." Surface things; bites and bruises, but they still hurt.

"It's not the same." It's defensive, and Hal's hand flexes in my hair, his head ducking away from looking at me. I can still see his eyes, barely, but most of his face is hidden by the angle. "He'll _hurt_ you, and he'll mock and laugh, and you'll think it was your choice right up to the end but it's not. It's _not_."

That sounds pretty uncomfortably close to rape, and I might be a murderer and a thief, but that's a line I don't cross. Not ever. Hal has wanted me _every_ damn time we've slept together, and we might play rough and sometimes even _mean_ , but I've never hated something he's done to me enough to make him stop. I've never regretted anything that happens between us. Did the Owl…?

"He's fucked you," I say, and the only reason I see the tension in his shoulders and the tiny _flinch_ is because I'm looking for it.

Hal looks up at me, wary and uncomfortable, and grudgingly spits out, "Yeah."

' _When?_ ' is my first question, but I swallow it back — and the one that instantly follows, ' _Why?_ ' — and move on to considering the actual important question. The one that drifted across my mind once, and then returned to latch itself into my conscious like the bite of teeth.

"What the hell did he do to you?" If Hal's actually subdued, and not just pissed off, it had to be bad. If the _thought_ makes him flinch it had to be _vicious_. But I don't remember there being a time when he was down and out for injuries that weren't from a battle, and never anything bad enough to make him react like this. Pain is just pain to people like us, anyway.

Hal's teeth bare, and the grip in my hair turns painful, threatening. "It's not any of your _fucking_ business," he snarls, deadly and serious, and then swallows, loosens his grip, and looks down to repeat, " _Don't_ go to him, Barry."

I consider him — the downward direction of his gaze, not willing to meet my eyes; the tension in his shoulders, the _pain_ ; and the clenched jaw and tight line of his mouth — and then offer, "That's a two-way street, Hal." He looks back up, confused, and I squeeze the back of his neck before I speak. "If you don't let him touch _you_ , then I won't let him touch _me_. Deal?"

It's _relief_ that sparks sharply in his eyes, and he _instantly_ answers, "Deal."

"I'm going to _hold_ you to that," I tell him. "I haven't thought of it yet, but I've got a _lot_ of free time, so you're not going to like whatever I decide on doing if you go back on your word and I have to step in. Got it?" Because there's something sick and twisting in my stomach at Hal's reaction, at his _insistence_ that I not go to Owlman, and his _refusal_ to talk about it. Something happened there, something _bad_ , and now the thought of him touching Hal doesn't just make me jealous and _angry_ , it makes me a little sick.

I don't like the way Hal made whatever it was sound.

He shifts his head in a nod, and leans into me. The press of his mouth is softer now, more the warm flick of his tongue than the sharp sting of his teeth, and it's different but I don't really mind. I'm not sure I really want violence right now, not after… I don't know what the Owl did to him, or how similar what _I've_ done to him is. I hope nothing I've done has ever made him think of whatever Owlman did.

The hand on my chest rises to cup the side of my face, and his mouth slips away from mine a moment later. Not far though, just to my jaw, where he pauses to draw my skin into his mouth to suck. Not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark that might stick around for a few minutes. I groan and tilt my head back, baring my throat as he makes a trail down the edge of my jaw and down my neck.

"So," I breathe out, "no bullshit. Are you actually capable of fucking? 'Cause I'm going to be _really_ pissed if you aren't."

He snorts, bites down a little bit, and then admits, "Maybe. Been thinking about it."

" _Share_ ," I demand, and he draws back and pulls my head down, a thin smirk on his face.

"Ride me?" It sounds more like a challenge than a request, which is just _great_ as far as I'm concerned.

"Sounds good to me," I say with a grin, and then a laugh. "But you're going to have to specify _how_ , because you give me a choice and I'm going to fuck _you_ , Lantern." Or, I would. If I'd been asked an hour ago I would have said I'd choose to fuck Hal, without hesitation, but now? I'm not sure if he can take enough for it to be really good; I've been _trying_ to think of how the repeat motion of fucking — either way — will affect him.

I _think_ , it's the actual impact that'll screw him up. Which is probably why he's suggesting what he is. If I'm riding him, my weight's going down, and he's not forced to compensate for any back and forth movement. It's the safest choice, and it'll still be a lot of fun so who _cares?_ This is a test run anyway. Once we know he can take at least this, we can get around to experimentation.

His hand tightens in my hair and drags my head up, so he can get his mouth back to my neck. Normally I make him pay for this, but he's not really biting, it doesn't hurt, and it feels good enough that I haven't got any kind of desire to make him stop. Especially not when the hand not buried in my hair slides back down my throat to my chest.

"I want you in my lap, Quick," Hal says against my skin, " _fucking_ yourself on me so I can have my hands free and touch whatever I want to. That good enough for you?"

 _Yes_ , but I only let, "I can make it work," out of my mouth. No sense in giving Hal any more fuel for his ego; he's got enough of that as it is.

His hand pushes my suit back off one shoulder, then the other, and I let go of him just long enough to yank my arms out of the confinement and let it fall to hang around my waist. Hal shudders when my hand returns to the back of his neck, grazing my nails across what little skin isn't covered by the high collar of his suit, but not raking like I could. No blood, not right now.

My other hand finds the right, uninjured side of his chest and strokes up, trying to feel his muscle through the suit. It sort of works, but mostly it gets me a forward push of Hal's hips, which is way better for all parts involved. His hand slides around my back, up along my spine, and drags me closer. I get out a laugh that might be a bit breathless, leaning into the hot press of his mouth and the graze of his teeth.

"At some point we're going to have to get across the room." As interesting as fucking on the floor is — been there, done that — it's not comfortable for anyone. Cement's hard, and I'd bet it'll be straight-up painful for him with those ribs. Walls are a little better, but right now that sounds like an even worse idea. No support on walls.

Hal makes some kind of agreeing noise, and slowly pulls away from my neck as he lets go with both hands and slides them both to rest on either side of my waist. His mouth meets mine as I pull my head down, but just for a moment before he draws back. Regretfully, I let him go too, but completely, not just with my hands on his waist. Not an area I want to touch with his injuries, at least not on the left, or with any force.

It's probably the simplest way we've ever gotten onto the bed. Usually it's Hal throwing me, or me shoving Hal, or some kind of trip over the edge and fall and there's _no_ way to know who's going to end up on top. Just walking over, with Hal at my back, is a totally new experience. He catches me at the edge of it, sliding both hands around my upper arms to pull me to a stop. His mouth at the back of my neck is new too; not bad, just new. I've left with imprints of teeth back there before, but just the heat and suction of his mouth is a little gentle for his usual taste.

Or maybe he was always just mimicking how I approached _him_. I honestly don't remember which of us started this.

I lower my head to give him more room, flexing against his grip and bringing my hands back to stroke up his thighs. I think I like this. Not just that it doesn't hurt, or that I've got all the power right now, but I genuinely like the feeling. Hal can do rough _really_ well, and fucking him is _damn_ good, but I like this too. It's still nothing like sex with Iris, not at _all_ , but I guess that doesn't have to mean that every inch and moment has to be bloody or painful to one or both of us. I guess it can just be… different.

I squeeze my hands down on his thighs, and feel the answering squeeze of his hands on my arms before he lets go. His right arm slides around my waist, hand coming down to hook at the edge of where my suit's hanging, and his left slides up to rake through my hair and get a decent grip. He holds my head down for a moment before pulling it back, his mouth pressing against my ear.

"Take this off," he says, in what's not _quite_ a demand, tugging at the edge of my suit and bringing it down off one of my hips so he can run his gloved fingertips over it. His left hand is bare, and I can feel the warmth of his skin against my scalp, but his right still has the glove.

"You first," I challenge, dragging my fingers up the front of his thighs and leaning into the arch he's forced me into.

I hear his ring activate, and I expect green energy jerking my suit down or wrapping around my throat to hold me, but instead the barrier of his suit vanishes, and suddenly my back and my hands are pressed against skin instead. It's not totally unheard of for Hal to strip down first, but usually he waits for me to demand it, and I don't usually have the patience to still be clothed at that point. Not unheard of, but rare.

I make a noise of mocking appreciation, just barely digging my nails into his legs as I stroke up and then back down what I can reach without any awkward angles or stretching. His breath catches when I press back against him, and I can feel the restrained shudder that slides up his spine.

"Fair's fair," he almost snarls, voice dark and low, and my mouth curves in a grin.

With him so close, any attempt at vibrating out of it is probably going to feel really unpleasant to him — it's good if you use it right, but too much or in the wrong way can be painful or uncomfortable — so I let go of his legs and bring my hands forward to hook at the fold of where my suit's hanging — at my hip on one side, and high on my thigh on the other. I do use a bit of speed to get it down my legs, and then more to get past the awkward bit of getting the built-in boots off my feet, before kicking it off to the side.

It's Lantern's turn to make the appreciative noise, and he releases his grip in my hair to slide his arm down and around my waist. My neck stays in the arch, because he unerringly reaches right for the most important parts, wrapping his fingers around me with practiced skill. His teeth graze across the side of my throat, his other hand wrapping around my hip to hold me still for the strokes. I grip his biceps to stop myself from grabbing for his side in a moment of stupidity, lean back into him a little bit, and enjoy.

He's hard against me, I can feel it, and it's not the same too-tight grip that leaves bruises behind — that's a good thing — but there's still strength in both grips. None of it is cautious, or hesitant, and it's a _damn_ good thing that even if he's hurt, he's not weak in here. Hal being interesting or not, if he couldn't hold my attention that would be that. I don't waste my time on things that don't keep me entertained; I would have found someone else to fuck until he was better.

I still might, depending on how the rest of this plays out.

Hal lets me feel it for a bit, enough to wind me into the higher levels of arousal, before letting go. "On the bed," he orders, pulling his hand back to push at my lower back.

I turn around just long enough to flash him a grin before letting myself fall back on the bed. It's not the softest, and it's not the biggest, but it's sturdy and it's big enough to work. No need for anything fancy when what we have will work; there's no point in it being anything better than good enough to fuck on, and it's already that.

I get caught again for a few seconds, just looking at his eyes, as he moves in over me. He kneels between my legs, hands warm on the inside of my knees as he pushes me open to fit between my thighs. The only difference is the slight texture of his ring, which my gaze gets drawn to as it activates and glows, energy flowing out from it. I follow the path of the green energy to the upper corner of the bed, the one against the wall, and keep my gaze on it as it reaches underneath the corner of the mattress to retrieve the stash of lube and condoms.

His makeshift hand drops the strip of wrappers off to the side, and then the bottle in Hal's right hand. I follow the line of his arm up, linger a second on the white of the wrap around his lower chest, and then meet his gaze. He smirks — totally different from the Owl's, and totally different than mine; Hal's is _dark_ — and leans down to set his teeth against the inside of my knee, tongue slipping between his lips to tease the sensitive skin there.

I draw in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to close my legs in on his sides because I don't really want him keeling over from pain. I stretch my right leg out to lie flat, just to make sure I don't do it by accident, and push up on my elbows to… I'm not sure, but I know I want to be up here.

Hal grazes his teeth across my skin, flashes a smirk up at me, and presses the bottle of lube to my hip. "Put on a show for me, _Barry?_ " he says, almost sounding like a _threat_.

"I thought we didn't do _shows_ ," I counter, even though I'm pretty much never opposed to fucking myself. Vibrations are _great_ , and I know my own body better than anyone else. Still doesn't mean I'm just going to give it to him without making him work for it.

"I remember saying I didn't do shows; you didn't answer." He gives a small sneer that's half a smirk, eyes narrowing in challenge but so alive with _lust_ it feels more like it's fake than real, even though I _know_ he means every bit of it. "Come on, Quick. You _love_ showing off."

"You love watching," I snap back, grinning.

"So we both win."

I push up far enough on one arm to reach in and get a handful of his hair with the other, dragging his head up a little bit. "Make a _deal_ with me, Lantern," I challenge. He swallows, leans into my grip for a fraction of a second before catching himself, and then strokes his free hand down the inside of my right thigh.

"What do you want?" he asks, sounding just a little strained. The tone makes me flick my gaze to his torso to make sure I'm not holding him at a bad angle, before deciding the strain in his voice is just desire.

I consider it, consider what he wants me to do, consider _him_ , and then give him a wicked grin and pull him in as I push up, meeting him more than halfway up in a kiss. He meets it wholeheartedly, free hand squeezing down high on my thigh as he makes a small noise that I'd label as a groan. I tighten my grip in his hair and make a sharply approving noise, pushing my tongue between his teeth and fucking his mouth, taking _full_ advantage. I get another pleased groan for my trouble, and pull him away from the kiss by his hair, flicking my eyes open.

"I want you to sit up against the wall," I tell him, as his eyes open to look at me, "as I put on that _show_ , and you won't get to touch me, or yourself. I want you to put your hands behind your neck and hold them there until I'm good and ready to fuck myself on more than just my _fingers_. I want you to do nothing but _watch_ until I climb over your lap and sink down on you, _Hal_."

" _Fuck_ ," Hal spits, eyes a little wider than normal, a little stunned. I laugh.

"That sound good to you, Lantern? Sound like a _deal?_ "

"Deal," he gets out, eyes closing for a second as his mouth parts a little bit, in a shaky exhale. " _Jesus_ , Barry."

"Go sit down," I order, letting go of his hair so I can reach down and take the bottle of lube from his hand. He lets it go, and his eyes are dark and lustful when he looks back up at me.

He moves — carefully, but confident — and I shift with him, turning as he slides around me and presses his back up against the cement wall at the head of the bed. His legs are stretched out, and my mouth goes dry when he lifts both arms and links them behind his neck, fingers wrapping around their opposite wrist. I let my gaze drop, for a second, to the spread of his legs, the jut of his cock, and the slight hint of darkness behind that. Then I flash him a grin, shifting close enough that I can take both my legs and hook my calves over his thighs. His jaw clenches, but he doesn't say anything to stop me.

I uncap the bottle, slicking the fingers on my right hand with the ease of practice before clicking the bottle shut again and tossing it to the side. I let myself lean back, my left arm coming up to cushion my own head as I feed my right back and underneath me, lifting my ass off the bed enough to get my hand past it.

Hal's gaze is glued down, and satisfied that my show is getting the attention I bargained for, I close my eyes and tilt my head back. The first finger is familiar, easy, and I can feel Hal's thighs clench underneath the press of my calves but he still doesn't say anything. It's tempting to work myself to an orgasm just like this, I know I could, but I let the idea go after a second's thought. That would be a little cruel, and I don't feel the need to be cruel to Hal right now. Not when he can't do the same to me, or take any kind of revenge.

So I avoid my prostate, just enjoying the sensation and the manipulation of the sensitive nerves around the rim as I add a second finger, and then finally a third. When I want more, and not a second sooner. I can hear Hal breathing hard, fast, but I don't open my eyes to look. I _do_ let out the noises that want to come, twisting the fingers of my free hand in the sheets of the bed and allowing my neck to arch and my hips to press back towards my hand.

When the desire, the _need_ , for something larger and decidedly stiffer is finally too much, I open my eyes and look down at Hal.

His bottom lip is between his teeth, clenched nearly to the point of making himself bleed — I already bit that earlier, it has to hurt — and his pupils are blown wide in desire. It's a hell of a shot of pride, and gives me my own lightning spike of arousal. I want him _now_.

I slip into the speed force almost automatically, pulling my fingers from myself and reaching for the strip of condoms. It's easy to pull one open, and I _force_ myself to slow down as I push up and reach for him. He jerks sharply — and then grimaces — when I roll the condom down over him, but meets my gaze with more than enough desire to make me ignore the moment of pain. I lever myself up, putting my knees to either side of his hips, wrap my hand around him, brace the other on his shoulder, and line it up right to sink down onto him.

I throw my head back at the feeling, and revel in both it and Hal's sharp cry. Hal, as always, is _just_ right. Not the too thick or too long of some guys, but enough to satisfy and fill me. I _love_ it.

I can feel him shift, and then one of his hands is wrapping around the base of my neck and dragging me up, and the other is lowering to squeeze my thigh hard enough that it might bruise, if I were anyone else. I meet the press of his lips and tongue, enjoying the aggression and _passion_ in his touch, in the way the hand on my thigh slides up and wraps back around my hip, digging fingers into my ass. I press my legs into his hips, moaning into his mouth, and he echoes it with a moan of his own.

He says what I _think_ is, " _Fuck_ , Barry, _god_ ," into the press of our mouths, not pulling away enough to make himself understandable, and I reach up and tunnel both my hands into his hair. His nails dig into the back of my neck, my ass, and he makes another noise into my mouth that sounds _desperate_.

It drives a sharp, breathless sound of pleasure from me, and I let go of his hair to brace both of my hands on the wall to either side of his head. I need the leverage, and I don't want to rest my weight on Hal's shoulders and risk ending this prematurely with a _stupid_ mistake.

He's holding my mouth to his — and the roll of his tongue is demanding and just _perfect_ — and I try to keep it that way, lifting and rolling my hips to push back down. He gasps, pulling away just to tilt his head back against the wall, throat arching. I do it again, but I can't resist the arch of his throat either. I lean in as I set up a rhythm, setting my teeth against his shoulder and drawing the flesh into my mouth, sucking hard enough to break blood vessels and make it bruise. The sound he makes, that I don't even _know_ what to call, says he definitely likes it.

I fuck myself on him, slow — for me — and with a complete rise and fall each time, only barely guided by the grip of the hand on my ass. Mostly, Hal is just letting me do what I want to, and that's a power trip that lights fire in my blood and makes me fight back the urge to turn this hard and fast, or angle myself a bit better to nail my own prostate. I don't want to end this quickly, and as long as I avoid doing this just right, and don't lower a hand to myself, I could even last as long as he does.

I can have an orgasm without touching myself, I've experimented and confirmed that, but it takes a while, and it definitely needs more than just the sensation and feeling of a cock or fingers in me. They have to actually be aimed the right way too.

Hal's hand lets go of my neck and pulls far enough back between us that he can loop it under my arm and get it around my waist. His palm strokes up the length of my spine, and with my mouth somewhere between his shoulder and his neck I can feel the rumbling vibration of the moan that he lets out of his chest and into the air. I barely hold back echoing it, but I roll my hips a little harder and clench my right hand instead, arching underneath the press of his hand to my back.

" _Barry_ ," Hal gasps, nails digging into the skin between my shoulder blades for a second. "God, that's so _good_."

"Hurt?" I manage to ask, and he makes a choked little noise that I think might have been some attempt at a laugh.

"Some." His hand strokes back down my back, with just enough nail behind it to feel good without actually scratching. I'd heal, but that's not the point. "Don't _care_." His head drags down, his tongue and mouth finding my throat and grazing down it, finding a spot at the curve of my shoulder to make his own mark. I try to keep my torso mostly still and confine my rise and fall to my legs and hips, so I don't bash him in the face.

What I can't contain, he handles.

I shudder, the speed force flaring in my veins and turning it into a sharp vibration, the world slowing around me for a moment. I shut it away again, and everything snaps back to motion as I drag in a breath and Hal cries out against my shoulder. I can feel him throb inside of me, but not enough to come, not quite yet. I know what that feels like, I know every second of the warning signs, every pattern of breath. I've let the speed force run wild just to watch him fall apart in slow motion, and god it was _amazing_.

I arch my neck for a second, shifting my weight to let myself brace on just my left hand so I can pull my right off the wall. I drag it down and grab a handful of Hal's hair, tugging upwards to get him to let go of my shoulder, so I can kiss him. Hard, hot, our tongues meeting somewhere in the middle because we're both too wound up in passion to sit back and let the other person fuck our mouth with no real fight. He wants in me, and I want in him, and so we hit each other in the middle and make do. It might even be _better_.

I can hear and feel his breathing catch, feel his hand flex on my ass and his hips lift up a bit to meet mine on the downwards fall. Which changes the angle, and I arch and break the kiss to give a startled, " _Ahn!_ " into the air at the sharp pleasure that's almost too much, too quickly.

 _No_. He's so close, I can _feel_ it, and I'm not going to come just a little too fast for him to get off too, not when it's probably a bad idea for him to flip me around and fuck me the way he obviously really wants to. Bad idea; I _have_ to hold on.

I force myself to keep going, to weather the new angle the lifting of his hips creates, and bury my head down against his shoulder to try and hold on. He shudders, and I nearly shake in something _far_ too worked up to be relief — anticipation, desire, _need_ — as his nails dig into my back and then he shudders, breath catching again as his neck arches back against the wall.

He shouts, strained to the edge of breaking, and I slam my hips down on him and give up trying to hold back. My orgasm snaps from me as sharply as my control of the speed force, and I can see yellow lightning follow my movement as I bow into an arch, clenching down around Hal and crying out, my hand tightening in his hair.

To me, it feels like _much_ longer than it is. Time stretches out around me and I shudder and vibrate my way through an orgasm that Hal will _never_ understand the intensity of.

When it snaps back to normal speed Hal is just starting to ease a little bit, and I follow him down, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to just fall forward onto him and call it a day. What a _shit_ way to end things that would be. Instead I carefully brace my weight against my arm, and duck my head down to press against the side of his neck and breathe him in. His hand loosens on my ass, just resting there, and the other one slides up my back to hook his grip over the back of my shoulder and hold there. His head is tilted against the wall, and I let go of his hair and smooth my hand down his neck.

I'm the first to move, because I'm the first to recover. Hal always needs longer to catch his breath, and I imagine that's even more the case while he's injured like this.

I shift back, pulling away and gently rolling my shoulder to cue him to let go, which he does. He gives a deep, _exhausted_ sounding moan when I raise myself off of him, and he slips out of me. As tempting as it is to just sit back down, I consider his injury for a second and then decide to play a little nicer than usual.

His eyes open to watch when I move away — though they're half-lidded and only sort of aware — and while I raise my right leg over his to stop fully straddling him, sliding it into the space between his legs. He inhales sharply when I reach forward and strip the condom off of him, but doesn't stop me, and I tie the end of it and grab just a bit of the speed force still humming underneath my skin — like a really satisfied, lounging cat — to get to the end of the bed and drop the condom into the metal wastebin near the corner of it.

I turn back to him, then move up to his right, uninjured side and press fairly close. "Come on," I prompt, "lie down."

He snorts, winces, and then sighs and nods, apparently reconsidering whatever he was thinking of arguing. He's more careful now, bracing his weight on his arms as he shifts down the bed and then leans back. I snag two pillows from where they inevitably always get piled into the bottom, wall-side corner, and tuck one underneath his head before he can get all the way down. The other I save for myself, but I wait until he's lying down flat on his back before I slide in next to him. My pillow goes beside his, and I loop my right leg over his and press up against his side, tucking my head on top of his shoulder.

He grumbles a little bit, but there's no actual words and it sounds half-hearted at best, so I ignore it. Maybe in a bit there will be more of this, but even I need a little bit of time to recover, Hal needs more, and I don't even know how much pain he might be in right now, or if he thinks it's worth it to do any more. I hope he does, or at least that it doesn't hurt enough to stop him, but I won't know unless he tells me.

His left hand reaches over and strokes through my hair, and I make a humming, pleased sound and close my eyes. It's an idle touch, a repetitive one, and if I were a little bit farther towards sleep it would probably put me under. As it is, I just let myself float on how good it feels.

There's no threat here.

Eventually, Hal shifts a bit and breaks the silence by asking, "Why did you defend me?" His voice is rough and tired, but serious, and I blink out of my haze enough to tilt my head up and meet his turned head and gaze.

"Defend you?" I echo. "When?"

"Back in the lab. Why'd you do that?" Oh, with the prime bastard himself. _Owlman_. "You gave him the wrong impression." Hal sounds a little grumpy, or maybe it's just his own special brand of resigned.

"You're overthinking things," I tell him bluntly. "I didn't like it, so I stopped it; that's all that happened, Hal. It barely had anything to do with you at all." _Why_ I didn't like it is something I don't care to look at too closely, and he doesn't need to know whenever I do figure it out. "He's not dumb enough to read into things that aren't there; he's just a bastard."

"That's true." His voice is dry, and his fingers trace down over my jaw. I let my eyes close for another second, and tilt into the touch. The pads of his fingers are slightly rough, but not calloused enough to be unpleasantly abrasive. "So what, you don't like people touching me?" It's more of a mocking question than a curious one, but I open my eyes again and look back up at him.

"Do you see me snapping at your hero girlfriend?" I counter, and he tenses for a second before I continue. "Relax, Hal, I'm not going to turn possessive stalker on you. I just don't like seeing other people treat you like you're not dangerous." He stares at me, brown eyes widened a bit, and I narrow mine in answer. "What?"

"What the hell does that even _mean?_ " he asks, fingers still on my jaw but stilled.

I push up, propping myself up on my elbow and looking down at him. "Exactly what I said." He doesn't seem to get it, and I scoff and bare my teeth at the memory, anger rising in my stomach. "He treated you like you were something he could jerk around and touch with _no_ need to be cautious. Like you were _harmless_. I might be a jackass to you sometimes, Lantern, but I've _never_ thought of you that way." I reach over and poke at his injured side, and he recoils and snarls at me. "Not even now. So yeah, it pisses me off to see people treat you like anything but the smart, powerful, _dangerous_ man you are. Sue me for wanting other people to respect the man I let fuck me. You understand now, or do I have to dumb it down some more?"

He sneers at me, and then pauses and shakes his head, the tension easing out of his frame. "Alright, yeah. I get it. Careful, Quick; that was almost a compliment." His right arm stretches out along the pillow, giving me a convenient place to slip into, and I take advantage.

I lay back down, fitting my head onto the curve of his shoulder as I flash him a grin. "In your dreams, Lantern." His arm curls around my back, hand resting on my side, and I can feel the slightly abnormal heat of his ring pressing against my skin.

His other hand returns to my hair, and I ease into his side and close my eyes, enjoying the touch. Until he asks, "Are you going to find someone else?" I flick my eyes back open to look at him, and find him already gazing down at me, mouth set in a thin line and a scowl on his face. "I mean, I'm not... I can't... If you're going to I won't stop you. Not that I could." That's bitterness, and maybe something like jealousy, and definitely anger. Mostly aimed towards his own injury, I'm almost sure.

"I might," I allow. "Why should I stay? This was good and all," _great_ , actually, but best not to feed Hal's already inflated ego, "but this is only going to stay interesting for so long. You got anything else?"

He makes a vaguely irritated noise, watches me for a few seconds, and then relaxes a little bit and gives a smirk, eyes narrowing in challenge. "Stupid question. Catch your breath yet, Quick?"

Interesting. I didn't think Hal had any tricks up his sleeves, not that didn't depend on him being strong anyway. What's he confident about that he can still do with injured ribs?

"Have _you?_ " I counter, bringing my right arm up and bracing it against his right shoulder and the side of his chest to push myself up a bit. "You're the one who's having issues breathing, Lantern." Mean, sure, but whatever he's thought of is enough that my words don't even phase him.

"How about I just take that as a 'yes'?" he says through that smirk, and I twitch when I hear his ring activate. I start to look back, but his hand clenches in my hair and drags my neck into an arch, and my support gets wrenched out from under me when bands of green energy wrap around my wrists and drag them to the small of my back.

I flex, twist my wrists against the binding to see what kind of concentration he's putting into it, and it stays solid. Not bad.

I grin, twisting my weight to brace my shoulder to hold my torso up, so I'm not held up by just his grip in my hair. "Restraints? Fun, but we both know you can't hold them through a fuck, Lantern. Too much _distraction_." His smirk doesn't waver, and now I'm _really_ curious. Not even Lantern can hold me if I really want out, and there's always the option of vibrating my way through his bonds if I have to. What does he think he's going to do to convince me to stick around?

His fingers loosen in my hair, smoothing over my scalp and then back over my neck. "Forgetting something, Quick?" he mocks, and my grin fades to a snarl for a second. "You think I'm just going to hold you down until I get around to being hard again?" he says, and then pushes himself up and away from me, snagging the pillow from beneath my head so he can shove it behind his shoulders and be a little propped up against the wall. Not much, but enough that my head is resting at his upper chest, and he's looking down at me.

Through all of it, the energy stays solid around my wrists. I test it again, pulling a little harder, dragging my legs under me for leverage. His ring whines a little louder, and another rope of energy winds around my right thigh and drags it up with that inescapable strength that's always behind his constructs. He pulls it high, up between his legs, and then lets go of my neck and reaches down with his left hand. He wraps it underneath my knee, holding my leg up as the construct disintegrates. I could pull away, but I choose not to for now.

I'm more curious than worried. So far.

It's been long enough, and this is interesting, so I push my hips forward against the bed and his thigh, and flash him a grin. "Come on, Lantern. _Do_ something before I break these," I pull hard at the bonds, "and see how well you take getting fucked with those injuries."

His right hand rakes into my hair, gripping tight as his smirk widens, showing teeth. "Oh don't worry about _that_ , Quick. You've never seen this trick before."

I hear his ring, but his hand keeps my head facing towards his chest and blind to whatever he's doing. The first touch is to my hip — the solid, smooth heat of his construct — and then slides around the back of my thigh to way more interesting things. Is he seriously about to— _god_.

I don't think I'd ever considered Hal using his constructs as toys to use on a partner, but I _really_ should have. The intrusion isn't big, but it's long, and presses smoothly inwards through the leftover traces of lubrication. I tense, flicking my eyes closed for a second, and he laughs. It's a little strained, cuts off, but the flex and press of his fingers against my scalp is steady.

I guess I never considered because I always knew that Hal couldn't hold a construct through a round of sex, that kind of kills any chance of using it for anything real. But with him already satisfied, and with the pain sharpening his focus — he told me once that all Green Lanterns are taught to use pain as a focus for willpower — it's totally viable. Oh _fuck_ , I can only imagine the kind of things he can do with this, if he's got enough concentration to keep up multiple constructs at the same time.

I open my mouth to taunt him, ask if the slim thread is it, and like he somehow already knows my entire thought process it expands. I draw in a sharp breath, jerking against the cuffs of energy and pushing my hips forward, feeling myself swell. His fingers drag up in my hair, forcing my head down against his chest. The construct starts moving inside of me, like it's really some other guy at my back, and it tears a groan through my clenched teeth.

The fingers in my hair tug upwards. "You never seemed to need more than my cock, but I have _so_ much more. This is the _tiniest_ fraction of what I can do, Barry."

"Fun trick," I manage to get out, and _damn_ him for knowing me so well, because each unyielding press in shoves against my prostate and drives the breath right out of me again. I arch, and his hand contracts on my leg, holding me partially still.

"That's what?" Hal says quietly, and I can _hear_ the smirk in his voice, the _satisfaction_. "About the size of me?" Maybe a little smaller, but I grit my teeth and don't tell him that. "But you can take more than that, can't you?"

I get about half of a second to understand what he's saying before his reactions kick in, and I go rigid when the construct sheaths all — I think — the way in and then slowly expands farther. My breath comes sharp and fast, and I can feel myself stretching around it and jesus _fuck_. A shaking moan gets out of my throat and my hands clench, as I hold very still and try not to buck my hips forward. It keeps getting bigger.

" _Christ_ , Hal," I finally groan, and like he was just pressing as far as I'd let him — more than possible; aggressive son of a bitch — it stops, staying still and constant inside me. I am _really_ sure that's bigger than anyone I've taken before, and the list's not huge and neither were they, but none of them were exactly small.

I breathe shallowly, shuddering, and Hal's fingers let go of my hair and stroke over my scalp. It's soft, a counterpoint to the almost too _much_ of his construct, and the still solid bind around my wrists. A particularly strong shudder shakes me — but the speed force is stubbornly deep inside me, and it doesn't turn into vibration — and the fingers on my thigh smooth in small circles, almost like it's supposed to be a comfort. The stranger part is that it actually helps me ease a little bit.

"Too much?" Hal asks, quietly, and I expect his tone to be mocking, or challenging, but it's _not_. I swallow, trying to think, trying to feel _anything_ but the unforgiving press of the construct. "Come on, Barry, give me _something_."

"I—" But trying to speak tightens muscles, clenches me around the thing, and it presses harder up against my prostate. My eyelids flicker, and whatever I was going to say dies to the breathless cry as I arch, press hard against him. It falls into shudders as the moment of tension lets me out of the arch, and I force myself to gasp out, " _Hal_ , I— _god_."

I don't think I can reach the speed force like this, I don't think I have the concentration to vibrate out of the energy around my wrists, and that's _terrifying_. It _is_ too much, it's too intense, and I don't think Hal will hurt me but I can't stop him if he _does_. I'm trapped, he could do _anything_ to me.

His ring whines, and the construct shrinks. Not all the way down, I can still feel the stretch, but enough that it backs off the edge of being too much, and I can drag in a deeper breath and try to stop the trembling of my shoulders. Try to get rid of the fear that's sharp in my chest.

" _Easy_." Hal's fingers are still stroking, still gentle, and it helps steady me a little bit. " _Easy_ , Barry. Say the word and I'll cut this off right now."

I manage to catch my breath, and his words aren't said in condescension but it _feels_ like it. "I can take it," I say, nearly snarling the words, and Hal's fingers close in my hair and drag my head up. His eyes are narrowed, watching carefully, and his fingers leave me to hold my own head up, tracing across my scalp.

"You're supposed to _enjoy_ it, Quick, not just take it. It's _supposed_ to get you to stay, you moron." His hand clenches down over my thigh, as I swallow and fight back more shuddering. " _Talk_ to me, tell me what you want. Don't you _dare_ take something you don't like just to keep your damn pride, speedster. I've fucked people who couldn't take _half_ of what I just did to you without _fainting_."

"I can _take_ it," I insist, _hating_ the shudder that gets past my control and totally undermines my words.

"Not the _point_ ," he snarls at me. "You think I'm going to mock you for not liking this? Take your head out of your _ass_ , Quick. Tell me what you _want_ , you son of a bitch; I already _know_ that you can take it."

" _Damn_ you," I hiss, jerk, and then spit out, "I want my _hands_."

The ring makes its distinctive sound, and the construct around my wrists disappears. I _immediately_ pull my arms forward, pushing one hand hard against his chest and curling the fingers of the other into the sheets. I roll my shoulders in, arching and considering how badly I can hurt Hal with just a single snap of my hand to his ribs.

It makes me feel better.

I let out a slow breath, flexing my grip in the sheets and lowering my head to close my eyes and breathe back in. Even if I can't concentrate enough to reach the speed force where it's decided — finicky _bastard_ of a thing — to hide deep inside my veins, all it will take is a single punch to lay Hal out with his injuries. I can hit him once even without my speed, no _problem_. It won't matter how hard he pushes, or how much he makes me feel; I can _hurt_ him.

"You going to tell me what it is you didn't like?"

I look back up, and then jerk the hand on his chest up to wrap around his throat. He flinches back, makes a startled sound that gets halfway out before he chokes it off, and his hand clenches in my hair and on my thigh. To his credit — but I _always_ knew Hal had a ridiculous ability to concentrate, it's a _requirement_ to be a Green Lantern — the construct buried in me stays constant.

"You can fuck me that hard _or_ you can restrain me," I hiss at him, tightening my fingers around his throat. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to make it a _threat_. "You _don't_ get to do both." He doesn't need to know why; not _ever_. He doesn't need to know that he can push me hard enough to make me — sometimes — lose my ability to access my speed.

It won't always be like that, but the speed force isn't a constant, it's a living _thing_ , and sometimes it's harder to use than others. He doesn't need to know _that_ either.

"Alright," Hal says, with just the smallest bit of strain. "I won't."

I let him go, dropping my hand down his throat to brace against his chest again. "So _pick_ one, Lantern," I challenge.

I get my answer in a sneer, and the sharp swell of his construct back to how big it _was_. It's enough to make me arch and throw my head back, teeth gritting together, but it's not the same kind of overwhelming as it was when I couldn't dig my nails into his skin and vent the pleasure by shoving my other hand against the bed. I gasp, and then drop my head back down and force myself out of the arch and round my back.

Hal drags my head down, shoves my thigh down and away from him, and rolls towards me. His weight presses down against my side, his hand reaching across my waist and hooking to pull me onto my side, my back to his chest. I let him. For a second his other arm is wrapped around my throat, but he lets that go and draws it back, reestablishing his grip in my hair without the added pin. His left hand drags down my side to my top leg, and pulls it up to be nearly horizontal, forcing my hips mostly flat.

"You really think you can handle this, _Quick?_ " he snarls, almost in my ear, and I flash a sharp grin that he might be able to see the corner of.

" _Stalling_ , Lantern? Just _fuck_ me, if you _really_ think you can go hard enough to back that up." I'm pretty sure he can, but the challenge is half the dynamic between us. If I just fold over — which I _won't_ — that'll disappoint him, and I would never let myself sink that low anyway. This has to be earned, it has to be _won_ , and I don't let anyone just have me without a fight. Not even Hal.

His hand tugs at my hair, and I can feel his breath against my neck before his teeth come down on the side of it. The construct starts moving at the same time, and my hips jerk forwards against the bed, rubbing myself against the sheets. My moan is high pitched, and my right arm curls underneath my head, palm down so I can curl the fingers on both of my hands into the sheets to ground myself. It feels... _god_. I've played with a lot of things, attached to other people or not, but I know I've never had anything this big in me.

It stretches in a way that's utterly amazing, but just a _little_ uncomfortable, just a little too much to be nothing but pleasure. It's unnaturally smooth, unyielding and rigid like it's metal, but hot like flesh. It's like _nothing_ I've ever had in me before, and there's a tiny little part of me that knows I'm going to want this again. It's not the same, and it's not exactly _better_ , but it's new and it's _good_. I'll want more.

Hal's mouth leaves my skin as his hand slides up my thigh, past my hip to my ass, and he pushes me down harder against the bed. My back rounds, a cry ripping its way out of my throat, and I can feel his fingers curl around the cheek of my ass and pull it to the side. It drags a shudder out of me.

His voice is low and dark, as he grazes his teeth across my ear and tells me, "That's about the size of my wrist." _Jesus_. I arch, pushing my head back as my neck curves. "I guess we know how much you can take, _Barry_. Maybe someday I'll work you open with my hand and fuck you with my real arm, so I can _feel_ how tight it must be."

I'm not breathing enough to answer, not _thinking_ enough to even get together what I'd say if I could. It does shake me, curl my fingers tight enough into the sheets to almost be painful, and that should ground me but it only makes all of it better, only works me higher.

"I'll make sure to take some videos, when it happens. Or just set up a mirror. You should _see_ what this looks like." His fingers slide down from my ass to tease the skin stretched around his construct, and I can't help the jerk of my hips or the unintelligible shout that bursts out of my throat. "Stretched tight, _loving_ it. I'm going to think about this every time I jack off for at least a month." His teeth sink into the side of my neck, a different spot, as his fingers trace around the edge of where his construct is shoving into me. Hard, fast, _deep_ with every stroke and with _insane_ aim.

His teeth pull back, and the tips of his fingers press against the edge like he's going to push them in beside his construct. "I'm going to imagine pushing something real into you that's this big, _fucking_ you with it until you're shivering and exhausted. So you can't do anything but _take_ it when I pull it out of you and sink my cock inside to replace it. Push my fingers in with it because just me won't be enough when you're that fucked open."

It's like I'm on edge, hooked on every word that comes out of his mouth and brushes against my ear, fire burning and raging in me but waiting, _needing_ just a little—

The construct shoves home, punching the breath out of me, and he hisses, "Unless I decide to leave it in you and fuck your mouth instead, _Quick_."

 _More_.

It feels like I arch tight enough that my back's about to snap, and I'm almost certain the noise that comes out of me is a _scream_. Hal's hand is tight in my hair, his construct moving with me and _slamming_ into my prostate, and I can feel the heat and wetness as I spill into the bed beneath my hips. There's a rush of tingling up my arms and legs as the scream ends, then my vision tunnels, and I have just about enough instinct left to recognize what's happening before I black out completely.

When I come to there's heat around my back, and I'm pressed up against something warm that, when I pry my eyes open, I identify as Hal's chest. It's his arm draped around my back, holding me close, and the construct is significantly smaller but still in me. I think that's actually a good thing; I'm not sure being totally empty would be a good feeling right now. At least not to wake back up to.

I blink, stir, stretch a little bit on automatic to check that everything still works. It does, though I'm tired and a little bit shaky.

"Only about ten seconds," Hal says softly, answering the question I probably wouldn't have actually asked. "You alright?"

I force a small nod, and then drag myself together enough to say, "Yeah, 'm good." My voice comes out rough, sounding just as tired as I feel. I close my eyes again, dipping my head down to rest my forehead against the hollow of his throat, breathing slow and steadily against his skin.

The construct starts to slip from me, and I'm sensitive enough it pulls a jerk and a shudder from me. His hand flattens out between my shoulder blades, and he murmurs, "Easy, I've got you." I feel like I should be offended, but I can't summon the energy right now. It's like there's a blanket between me and the rest of my emotions and thoughts, and it should concern me but it's calming, easy, and I don't want to leave just yet.

His construct leaves me completely, and I make some kind of quiet noise that prompts him to press me a little closer to him, hand stroking down my back. The emptiness doesn't feel really comfortable, and there's definitely a part of me that misses the heat and solidness of his construct in me, but it's buried down with everything else that requires anything but instinct. I reach forward with my right hand, idly and blindly, until it touches his chest. I spread my fingers out across the skin and muscle underneath my hand, just leaving it there to feel him.

The blanket slowly lowers, allowing more to bleed through to my mind, as I breathe against Hal's chest. I'm in no rush, so I don't try and hurry it along. I enjoy the warmth and the bone-deep satisfaction humming through my veins, right next to the singing lightning of the speed force, which is back to being right beneath my skin and a breath away from letting me use it.

"If you're falling asleep, I want underneath the sheets." It sounds more matter-of-fact than teasing, but I shove a little bit at the chest underneath my hand as I huff out a breath.

"You're the one with a grip," I point out, lazily.

His hand slides down my back, and then slowly pulls back from my waist as he starts to shift away from me. I open my eyes to watch him pull back, closer towards the wall side of the bed, and drag the sheets down to slip underneath them. He moves a little cautiously, and the wrap around his waist, black bruises slipping out from the edges of it, wakes me up a bit more. He reaches over, above me, to snag a pillow and tuck it under his head, and then raises an eyebrow at me.

I manage to get together enough energy to push myself up and over to him, and slip beneath the several layers and up against his chest. His arm wraps back around my waist, hand pressing against my spine, and I reach up and tuck my top arm over his neck, curling my hand into his hair. Mostly so that I don't loop it over his injured side, but partially because his hair feels good between my fingers.

"You know," he starts, when I'm settled, "I've never heard you scream before." He sounds proud, satisfied, and I give a small snort.

"Ruin this feeling, and I _will_ elbow you in the side, Lantern." I could do it gently. It would still hurt him, but it wouldn't snap anything.

He's silent for a good few seconds, and I almost think I'm going to be able to get to sleep, but then he asks, quietly, "Are you staying?"

I pause, trying to figure out what he's talking about, and then give another snort and flex my grip in his hair. "I'll stay; good enough. Now shut up, Hal. Let me sleep."


End file.
